


Upgrade

by hotelroomservice, rykitty



Category: Homestuck, Upgrade (2018)
Genre: Alcohol Mentions, Artificial Intelligence, Drug Use, Gen, Gun Violence, Overdose, Paralysis, Science Fiction, Striderian Angst, Talk of Suicide, i promise ill write something happy after this, im not sure if any of this will count as "graphic" violence but its better to be safe, is this where im meant to tag trigger warnings, mentions of abuse, morphine specifically, shits fucked all the time, this movie is a thriller/action so, what the fuck is canon, will tag mroe as i go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-25 16:13:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30091728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotelroomservice/pseuds/hotelroomservice, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rykitty/pseuds/rykitty
Summary: DAVE: no seriouslyDAVE: it can literally do anythingDAVE: likeDAVE: talk to anything drive anything calculate anythingDAVE: this thing is smart as fuckDIRK: Can it make babies and play football?DAVE: yeah dude totally-A retelling of the 2018 thriller, Upgrade, because everything is Homestuck. A good old fashioned high-tech revenge fantasy romp around a city that runs on machines in the near future; complete with AI, Striderian angst, and run on sentences, just like Mama used to make.
Relationships: Auto-Responder | Lil Hal & Dave Strider, Auto-Responder | Lil Hal & Dirk Strider, Dirk Strider & Dave Strider, Dirk Strider & Jade Harley, Dirk Strider & Roxy Lalonde, Jake English/Dirk Strider, Jane Crocker & Dirk Strider
Comments: 16
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

The metal under your fingers is cool. You work deft and diligently, because fuck if you don’t know what you’re doing. You have this shit on lock, because this is what you do.

Your name is DIRK STRIDER, and you’re fuckin’ baller at robots.

That’s a good thing, probably, because technology has progressed past the point where it’s acceptable to not be fuckin’ baller at robots. You don’t really dabble in AI, though. It freaks you out. Technically, you know that you could do it. You've been throwing together bits of technomastery since the ripe age of thirteen. It’d probably be easy. A scan of your brain here, a few strings of Python there. Baby shit. You just really, really, really don’t like the idea of it... doing shit. Shit that you don’t want it to. A robot should do what it’s made for, and giving it room to make decisions is just begging for a rogue robo-baby betraying your wishes and calling you dad.

Nah, you’re cool with your one trick robot ponies. No unnecessary responsibility.

Like this bad boy. You call him Squarewave, and he’s really fuckin’ good at rapping.

DIRK: I think I love you. Is that weird?

Squarewave doesn’t respond, because you didn’t rhyme it at him. No incoming rap warfare detected. Good. Just like you wanted.

You fiddle and fuck around with Squarewave’s paintwork until you hear a car in the driveway. A quick glance at your watch confirms the time for you- 4:13 PM. That means that he’s home. You figure you’ve done enough of a makeover on this bad boy to be good enough for what he’s made for, and set your spray paint aside. The shitty paint job is part of his charm, probably. Irony is kind of your brand, and there’s something so funny to you about an intricate piece of machinery looking like shit. You have a feeling that the guy you’re selling to won’t mind, anyway. Your hands are wiped on the fabric of your pants as you stand, and then it’s out with you to meet Jake as he emerges from his hi-tech fancyman car.

JAKE: Good afternoon dirk!

He smiles at you, and he glows. You don’t smile back, but you tilt your head in acknowledgement. His hair bounces as he bounds up the driveway, and when he reaches where you’ve propped yourself in the doorway, he leans over to give a kiss to your forehead. Damn. You were hoping for the real deal. You fidget with the wedding band on your finger as Jake, your husband, regards you fondly.

JAKE: I missed you.

Yeah, obviously.

DIRK: Your aim’s not getting any better. My lips are down here, dude.

You tilt your head up to press your lips to his in a proper kiss. Much better. Jake pushes past you then, and you follow him inside like a lost puppy. The door shuts behind you both.

YOUR SICK-ASS HOME OPERATING SYSTEM: Welcome home, Jake.  
YOUR SICK-ASS HOME OPERATING SYSTEM: Currently playing: evening playlist one.  
YOUR SICK-ASS HOME OPERATING SYSTEM: The temperature indoors is 72 degrees, and the energy wall is charged at 86%.  
YOUR SICK-ASS HOME OPERATING SYSTEM: Also, you’ve run out of eggs.  
JAKE: Oh thank you! Go right on ahead and order those would you?  
YOUR SICK-ASS HOME OPERATING SYSTEM: Certainly.

He sets his bags down on the floor near the kitchen island, and you lean on the counter next to him. He turns to meet you, and his hands rest on your hips like they always do. You’re half surprised that there aren’t permanent indents where his hands constantly lay- thumbs on your hip bone and fingers splayed on the small of your back. You think that’s sort of a funny name for a part of the body. It makes sense, though, in this sense. His hands make your back look small, you guess. They make most of you look small, but that’s probably just because Jake is a big guy and you, comparatively, are the opposite. If you don’t acknowledge that it isn’t true though, so as far as you’re concerned you’re buff as fuck. Beefy. Swol.

Jake presses another kiss to your forehead, and you fidget with the hem of his t-shirt.

JAKE: How was your day my dearest heart?  
DIRK: Aw, shit. Y’know how it is. I rise, I grind. Get shit done.

His eyes flit about the room as if you’ve ever left evidence of your work in the fucking kitchen.

JAKE: Evidently!  
DIRK: What.  
JAKE: Oh nothing! It just appears as if youve been hardly working instead of the preferred working hard is all.  
DIRK: Dude.  
DIRK: We’re in the kitchen.  
JAKE: “Dude”.  
JAKE: Were married.  
DIRK: Wait, what? Real shit?  
JAKE: Yes i know its hard to believe but weve actually been wedded in holy matrimony for quite some time now!  
DIRK: That’s kinda fucked up.

You go to kiss him, and he meets you halfway.

DIRK: I actually have been productive, though, proverbs aside. I just finished Squarewave.  
JAKE: Thats excellent!  
DIRK: Yeah, I know.  
DIRK: I gotta drop it off at Dave’s tonight. He’s obsessed with me being on time. Weird fuckin’ kid.  
JAKE: You have fun with that.  
DIRK: Not so fast, dude. You’re comin’ with me.  
JAKE: Oh am i now?  
DIRK: Hell yeah you are. I want to take a spin in your fancy automobile.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes.

JAKE: Oh i see. You only like me for my hot rod. Is that it you cheeky minx?  
DIRK: Yep.  
JAKE: Well unfortunately for you mister english-strider i have work to do. So i cant.  
DIRK: Strider-English. Can’t lives on Won’t Street, man. You’re coming with me. And believe me, you’re gonna want to see this fuckin’ house.  
JAKE: English-strider. Ive been to your brothers home before dirk im not quite sure how whelmed im meant to be about an unfortunate apartment fifteen minutes into the city.  
DIRK: Strider-English. He moved into Bro’s old place.

He looks uncomfortable. It makes sense, because it’s an uncomfortable sentence to hear. You weren’t very affected by the death of your guardian/brother/whatever that scumbag was meant to be, but to say your little brother, Dave, was would be an understatement. You did your best for a while to be there for him, because you’re a better brother than your Bro ever was, but you can only do so much for a guy who won’t let you get near him (and you don’t blame him for that. If you were a barely 22 year old kid whose guardian [who beat the fuck out of you] just died and you had a brother who looked just like that guardian [who beat the fuck out of you], you wouldn’t want him near you either. It still hurts, just a little, but you get it). Eventually, the responses stopped coming, and your key stopped working in the door. The fact that he commissioned you at all is a surprise, but you’re not about to look a metaphorical gift horse in it’s proverbial mouth, so you’re taking this opportunity for all it’s worth.

You don’t want to go back to that house. Your Bro sucked ass to you, too (isolation is bad for a kid), and you having far more (dubiously healthy) coping mechanisms than Dave doesn’t negate the fact that you’re not thrilled to face your childhood home. That, and you’re nervous as fuck to see Dave. You think Jake gets it now, judging by the way his eyes soften. He nods, and kisses you again.

-

Jake’s car is fancy. It drives itself and speaks to you and is basically a person. He calls it Herbie the Lovebug, even though it’s decidedly not a lovebug in any sense of the word. You think it’s his way of coping with the freaky pseudo sentience the car displays, and you don’t blame him, even if that name is fucking stupid. AI is weird. Cool weird, but you’ve already pondered over your complicated feelings on the subject enough for today. You don’t like riding in this thing, but your car is too small to fit Squarewave properly. For now, Herbie the Lovebug drives, and you try to focus more on Jake’s hand holding yours and the way he lights up when he talks about his day than the dread you feel pooling in the deep, dark pit of your stomach.

-

The water that frames three quarters of your childhood home laps lazily at the structural support beams holding the brunt of the expensive ass place. Seagull crying almost sounds like “Hello, Dirk. Welcome home,” and you don’t understand how Dave could stand to live here. The ocean is calm, but the anxious sea inside your stomach crashes and churns; the dichotomy of the two almost makes you laugh. You don’t, though, because it isn’t funny in the haha sort of way. It’s funny in the you’re going to vomit on the tires of Jake’s fancy car sort of way. He offers you his hand and you take it, and his thumb rubs over your knuckles. Maybe everything is going to be okay.

And it is, kind of. For a second. It’s okay as Jake tells the car to lock, and it’s okay the entire walk up the driveway. It’s less okay when you’re stopped for clearance, because you’re a fucking Strider this is your house too-

But Jake’s much better at the people charming than you are, and he makes everything okay again, kind of. For a second. Things are exponentially less okay when you step into the foyer and realize that...

DIRK: ...Everything looks exactly the same.  
JAKE: Yeah?  
JAKE: Is that a good thing?

You don’t know. You’d probably feel the same (or potentially worse) if this place was unrecognizable. Fortunately, you don’t have to agonize over this (you’ll do it later) for long, because Dave decides to finally grace you with his presence.

DAVE: sup

He looks... bad. Gaunt. Tired. So, so small. Your chest aches, and you figure that it’s fitting to have a burning, nervous sun in place of your heart, creeping its way to tuck itself into the blanket of worried ocean in your stomach.

DIRK: Yo.  
DAVE: its been a sec  
DIRK: Yeah.

And suddenly, you hate him. You hate him for getting the house, and you hate him for taking this so hard. You hate him for letting himself get this bad. You hate him for not letting you help. If he had just let you fix it, he wouldn’t look like he’s one missed meal away from dying. Jake squeezes your hand, and you squeeze it back. He knows you’re flipping your internal shit. Of course he does. He always knows.

JAKE: Good evening dave!  
DAVE: hey man

You love Jake so, so much.

JAKE: Weve got your little rapmatical friend out in the car!  
DAVE: yeah i figured  
DAVE: i can send a dude to go get it no big

Why the fuck did you even come in here, then?

DAVE: i wanted to show you something though  
DAVE: like over in the other room

Uh. Did you say that outloud? You blink for a second.

DIRK: Uh, okay.  
DIRK: Lead the way, dude.

Good god, this is awkward. Dave leads you and your husband down the hall as if you didn’t grow up here. Groan. You take a turn, and fuck your personal little ocean grows more and more agitated with every step, until you and Dave stop in unison. He’s taken you to Bro’s workshop. Bro’s workshop. You don’t go in there. You’ve been in there once, when you thought you wanted to help him make some AI thing in your early teens. But if Dave wants to show you something in there, it means that he’s been in there. Looked around. Your eye twitches behind your shades.

DAVE: uh

He unlocks the door with a retina scan (how very cyber villain of him), and lets you in. You don’t look around. Your eyes are locked on a glowing table with some sort of.. cloud? Thing? Up above it. It’s definitely just some weirdass tech, but you’re curious.

JAKE: What in the great heavens is that?

Looks like Jake is, too.

DAVE: its my cloud

As if that clears literally anything up.

DAVE: helps me with all my ceo shit

Right. Your Bro was the head of the leading AI/Robot/Whatever company in the United States, RE-DIRTS. His company manufactured Jake’s car. His company was left to Dave. That doesn’t bum you out too bad, because you’re really not CEO material, but you kind of wish Dave didn’t have to deal with it. He’s so young.

JAKE: Ah yes!  
JAKE: Ive been meaning to ask how that all is shaking out! I just recently got promoted within my own line of work and-  
DAVE: thats FELT right  
JAKE: Thats the ticket!  
DAVE: cool

Jake fidgets idly with your wedding band. You’re proud of him. He works for a company that specializes in prosthetics for wounded soldiers. It’s doing a whole lot more good than whatever the fuck Bro had going on here. You and Jake hope that if Dave’s now in charge, he can turn that around.

JAKE: Weve been getting nearer and closer to more efficient prosthetics. Of course its nothing close to the level that RE-DIRTS is operating at or anything of the sort but were getting there!  
DAVE: nah dude  
DAVE: youre really not  
DIRK: Oh?  
DAVE: check it

He leads you over to the glowy techno-table, and presents you with...

DIRK: Wow. A bug. That’s really impressive, Dave.

...some nanobot hexbug lookin’ motherfucker. It’s some sort of microchip, you gather, about the size of nail on your thumb.

DAVE: yeah i know  
DAVE: its called lil hal  
DAVE: bro made it  
DAVE: this is the shit of the future  
DIRK: Jesus.  
DAVE: what  
DIRK: Hal? Like, as in Hal 9000? Space Odyessy, really?  
DAVE: oh  
DAVE: yeah i guess  
DIRK: That's dumb as fuck.  
DAVE: dude your car is named herbie the lovebug back off  
DIRK: That’s Jake’s car.  
JAKE: And its a good name! Far less needlessly sinister!  
DAVE: hahaha  
DAVE: anyway  
DIRK: Anyway.  
JAKE: Anyway.  
JAKE: What does it do?  
DAVE: what your car  
DIRK: Dude.  
DAVE: haha i was just joshin you  
DAVE: everything  
DIRK: Ha, ha.  
DAVE: no seriously  
DAVE: it can literally do anything  
DAVE: like  
DAVE: talk to anything drive anything calculate anything  
DAVE: this thing is smart as fuck  
DIRK: Can it make babies and play football?  
DAVE: yeah dude totally

You both snort. Dave seems weirdly serious about this thing, but you came over to drop off a robot, and you’ve been here long enough. It smells like Bro in here.

-

The sun has nearly completely set outside when you and Jake are comfortably sitting in his car on the way home. His fingers drum on your knee.

JAKE: You did good back there.  
JAKE: I know it must have been downright unpleasant revisiting old sore spots like that.  
DIRK: Yeah.

You don’t want to talk about it. You don’t want to talk about Dave, or Bro, or “Lil Hal”. You kiss him, and he kisses you back. Your hands dance about each other eagerly.

HERBIE THE LOVE BUG: Please put on your seatbelts, Jake and Dirk.  
JAKE: Fucking christ-!!!  
DIRK: Shit- Dude. Shut up, Herb.  
HERBIE THE LOVE BUG: Did you say shut down?  
DIRK: No.  
HERBIE THE LOVE BUG: Please put on your seatbelts, Jake and Dirk.  
DIRK: Oh, fuck off.  
HERBIE THE LOVE BUG: I don’t know that command.

Jake sighs. So do you. You get back to what you’re doing, because fuck that, and the disembodied voice of Jake’s car’s operating system interrupts once more.

HERBIE THE LOVE BUG: Turning left at Hayden.  
DIRK: Oh, for the love of-

The streetlamps are getting less sporadic. It’s sort of fucking dark outside, and you can’t really see Jake very well. He’s right in front of you. You don’t recognize this street.

DIRK: Where are we?  
JAKE: Going home silly. Eyes over here please mister english-strider.  
DIRK: Strider-English.

You try to get back to it, but.. it just feels wrong. Jake grabs at your thigh, and you can feel his wedding band pressing into you. You bat his hand away.

DIRK: Seriously, this isn’t right.  
JAKE: Oh come on its probably taking us a back way. Herbies never done wrong by me before! I dont see why tonight would be the exception!

You peel away from him, and he sighs. You tap at the display on the dash. Select your home address from a menu bar. The screen beeps at you.

HERBIE THE LOVE BUG: I’m sorry.

What.

DIRK: What.  
DIRK: Turn around.  
HERBIE THE LOVE BUG: I’m sorry.  
JAKE: Return to the freeway please! Destination home.  
HERBIE THE LOVE BUG: I’m sorry, I cannot.

What the fuck. A freaked out storm is brewing above your ocean of anxiety.

DIRK: Herb. Stop.  
JAKE: Here let me...

Jake presses the brake twice, and it doesn’t do anything.

HERBIE THE LOVE BUG: Turning right.

The car jerks into a hard right turn, and Jake hits the door with a thud.

JAKE: Jiminy fucking christmas!

You pump the brake, and immediately fucking regret it. The car speeds up, and you stare in horror at the speedometer. 70... 75... 90-

The car takes another hard right, and both of you go flying. Jake hits his head on the dash, and the glass of the display cracks. Blood dribbles down his face, and you glance at the speedometer again. You don’t know where your shades are. The car is going 130 MPH.

DIRK: Jake.

He doesn’t respond. The car is going 160 MPH.

DIRK: Jake!

Nothing. You reach over to him and shove him back into his seat, snapping the metal of his seatbelt into its holster. Safe. Jake needs to be safe. You scramble to click in your own, and manage to get it secure mere fucking miliseconds before the stupid goddamn car hits something that sends it flying.

For a few blissful moments, everything is quiet. The car is in the air, and you look over at Jake. He isn’t conscious. You wonder if you’re going to die.

DIRK: I love you.

The car connects with the ground.

And you don’t die. You’re upside down, and blood is drip, drip, dripping down your forehead. You’re all twisted up and you feel sort of like a pretzel. A fucked up, gory pretzel.

You don’t die, but you don’t hear anything from Jake, so your head whips around.

DIRK: Jake?

The movement makes the world warp and spin. You groan. So does Jake.

DIRK: Oh, thank fuck.

A car pulls up near yours. You hear it before the light of the headlights basically fucking blinds you. Your head hurts.

You hear boots, lots of them, and someone kneels down at Jake’s window. You can’t see much, but if you didn’t know any better, you’d think this guy’s eyes are glinting red in the sparse light provided by the other car and a streetlamp(?).

RED EYES: YOu REALLY SHOuLDN’T BE HANGING AROuND IN A PLACE LIKE THIS.

He speaks loudly, and it makes your head pound harder. You think you see something gold in his mouth glinting as he talks.

Red Eyes grabs Jake and pulls him away from the car, and away from your line of sight, but before you can protest, someone does the same to you.

You don’t know where you are. You’ve never been on this street. Jake groans again. You wish he would wake up. Everything hurts.

DIRK: Just take my wallet, man.

There are so many of them.

DIRK: You can have it.

Your pride hurts almost as much as your head does, but there are so many of them.

DIRK: Just leave us alone.

They’re all wearing green, and it hurts your eyes.

DIRK: Please.

Red Eyes finally looks at you, and your stomach drops. He stalks over to you. Kneels. Grabs your face.

RED EYES: THIS MAY VERY WELL BE A DOuBLE FELONY. PRETTY BOY.

Bad. Bad, bad, bad. You will your body to move, but all you can do is shake.

JAKE: ..11

What the fuck.

SOMEONE, FAINTLY: 911, what’s your emergency?

Your eyes dart over towards Jake.

JAKE: Help please..

Red Eyes follows your gaze, and lets go of your chin. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck because that slams your head back into the pavement, and fuck because you forgot that you aren’t wearing your stupid fucking shades because they came off in the stupid fucking car.

Red Eyes goes to kick Jake in the stomach, but he catches the boot and shoves him away. You think, for a second, things might be okay. Jake is a big guy, and can handle himself in a fight. No one’s on top of you now, so it’s just a matter of biding your time. You’ll help him. You just need to find the perfect moment to strike. He’s brute force, you’re stealth. It’s good.

Red Eyes catches Jake’s hair in his fist as he struggles to his feet. The tip of Red Eyes’ knife gets plunged into Jake’s ear, picking the earpiece that he was using to call for help on out. It crunches beneath his boot. Jake screams.

Then, multiple things happen in rapid fucking succession.

You get up.

Jake elbows a guy in the nose.

Some guy catches you by the shoulder, and you try to break his knee.

Red Eyes slams Jake’s face back down into the pavement.

You try your best to get to him.

Jake struggles,

and Red Eyes puts a fucking bullet in his chest.

He doesn’t scream, and he doesn’t cry. Just goes limp. Red Eyes stands, and kicks Jake over so that his face greets the sky. Then, Red Eyes turns to you, still kicking and thrashing, and unloads metal into your shoulder. His boots are loud as he stalks his way over to you, but you can’t devote much attention to that. You’re just trying to stay upright. You feel a.. something in your spine (another bullet, probably. It only hurts for a second), and then you don’t really feel much of anything. You crumple to the ground, and the asphalt says hello to the back of your head.

The men walk away. You hear their boots. There are so many of them.

Then, it is quiet.

Quiet, except for Jake’s shallow breathing. You try to scoot closer.

DIRK: Jake.

You will your body to move. To do anything. It does not.

DIRK: Jake, I can’t get to you.

You can’t move.

DIRK: I can’t move.

He doesn’t look at you, just stares up at the sky.

DIRK: Jake, stay with me, okay?

Your hand is so close to his. You can’t reach. You can’t move.

DIRK: I’m right here.

You can’t hear him breathing anymore.

DIRK: I’m right here, okay? Jake, are you there?

You don’t think that he is, but something in you wants to hope. You want to hold his hand.

DIRK: No, no, no. Jake. Jake, please.

Your wedding band shines at you in the light of the street, and you think that if you could feel it it would be the heaviest thing you have ever held.

DIRK: Please.

You ask him to come back to you, and he does not. Instead, he stares up at the sky, and you wonder what it is that he sees.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER SPECIFIC TWS: drug (morphine) abuse, overdose, and talk of suicide/abuse. take care of yourselves!!!

dependent (adj).

also dependant, late 14c., "relying for existence on;" early 15c. as "contingent, related to some condition;" from Old French dependant, present-participle adjective from dependre "to hang down," from Latin dependere "to hang from, hang down; be dependent on, be derived," from de "from, down" (see de-) + pendere "to hang, cause to hang; weigh" (from PIE root *(s)pen- "to draw, stretch, spin").In some cases the English word is directly from Latin dependentem (nominative dependens), present participle of dependere. From early 15c. in the literal sense of "hanging down, pendent." From 1640s as "subordinate, under the control of or needing aid from an extraneous source." Dependent variable in mathematics is recorded from 1852.

  
It’s funny how dependent someone as obviously self sufficient as you are can come to be.

  
DIRK: Morphine.

  
The mechanical arm that “hang[s] down” from the ceiling, that you could very well describe as “pendant” (which you do, because the definition of pendant as a verb is “hanging down”. You’re just making a point to yourself. If your internal monologue could have an aside, this would be that aside’s aside) reaches down, down, down to administer the drug into your arm. You don’t feel the needle, but you’ll feel the good part soon enough.

  
You find it fascinating, the way the word dependent has been changed over the years. Most words undergo this sort of lexical metamorphosis, but none so relevant to you now as this one. The term “dependency” has been in use since the 1590s (ish), referring to the "condition of being logically dependent; relation of a thing or person to that by which it is supported”. Later, in the 1610s, it was condensed to "that which depends for its existence upon something else", as previously shown in the forefront of your psychological digression.

  
The constant here is the implication of a person to be dependent on. We call children “dependents” of/on their parents. The Latin dependre being something to hang brings to mind the image of hanging fruit. Family. What is meant to provide for you. So that makes sense. (Pendere also can mean to weigh, and you find the concept of dependency and thus family being a weight interesting as well). As a child, you are dependent on your parents to give to you what you cannot give yourself as a useless little baby. What the fuck are babies good for, even? You guess that everything needs a precursor to badassery, and you can amount infancy to a learning period before one's full awesome potential has the opportunity to be reached. In that case, you were only a baby for, like, five minutes, probably. You’ve been sick as fuck as long as you’ve been breathing.

  
DIRK: Morphine.

  
Another dosage is administered. That’s what you’re talking about.

  
So, then, what of psychological dependency on something/someone who isn’t directly related to you? Is that derived from a human’s need to have someone who can provide you something special. That one person who knows your tells and thoughts? What does having that person _give_ you? Security? Maybe. Comfort? You suppose there is something attractive in the prospect of being understood and known intimately.

  
That takes decent care of psychological dependency. What about physical dependency on something/someone? What does that do to someone’s psyche? You’re sure that dependency on things is far easier than dependency on people, to an extent. Things are made to help man. A person that is particularly prideful would have difficulty with needing to have someone be there to help with simple things. This is, of course, because prideful people are glaringly past their infant dependency stages. Infants are blissfully unaware of their own uselessness, and thus have no need to feel the self conscious insecurity that propels things like “pride” and “ego”.

  
Oh, ego. Your old foe. The ego is something you’re intimately familiar with. The common definition of “ego”, as we know it today, comes from-

  
JADE: good morning!

  
Sigh.

  
DIRK: Yo.

  
Jade English-Harley sits beside your bed, and waves the mechanical morphine angel away from you. Her bag hits the floor with a comically loud thump, and you wonder what the hell it is that she lugs around with her all day when she isn’t fussing over you. Your bedtray is pulled up to your chest, and breakfast is served, you guess. It’s the same as it is every morning, but you still regard her over your shades and ask,

DIRK: What’s on the menu, Swaminathan?  
JADE: check this out!!

You peer at the spread in front of you, and it looks pretty good. Nothing fancy- a smoothie and toast, as per usual- but you know she grew and/or made most (if not all) of this shit with her bare hands.

DIRK: Lookin’ good.  
JADE: whyyyy thank you!  
JADE: you think you can guess everything in the smoothie this time?  
DIRK: Duh.  
JADE: you said that yesterday!!  
DIRK: That was Past Dirk. Quite honestly, I’m offended that you’re holding me accountable for somebody else’s actions.

She rolls her eyes and snickers, and the corner of your mouth twitches upwards affectionately. Then, the fun part ends, and she pokes a straw into the lid of the smoothie. It’s brought up to your mouth, and you stretch your neck to try to meet the metal halfway. Jade won’t let you, though, and presses her pointer finger to your forehead until your head rests back on your pillows. You sip, and try not to feel embarrassed.

JADE: so! today, june and i are thinking about going out t...

You try to pay attention, you really do, but you’re mostly focusing on the way you can feel the cold smoothie in your mouth, and you can feel it go halfway down your throat, but it just sort of... stops, after that.

It’s been five months since Jake died. One since you got home from the hospital.

That means it’s been five months since you’ve felt anything in your body below the neck. Five months since you’ve moved, and five months since you’ve done anything for yourself. One since you’ve had to learn how to live in your stupid house without Jake.

How to live in your stupid house, with those ugly curtains that Jake loved so much. Your stupid house, with the couch you bought together. Your stupid house, with your stupid kitchen that he got you to dance in (even though you can’t dance; even though you don’t really even _like_ dancing; even though his taste in music ~~is~~ ~~was~~ ~~is~~ was awful; even though, even though, even though). Your stupid house, full of pictures that hate you. Happy Dirk and Alive Jake hate you so, so much. They stare holes into your skull from your bedside table; they say mean things when you roll by them in the dead of night; they are so happy, and they are so alive. Your stupid house, with your dumb-ass home operating system, that for some reason can’t get the fact that Jake is _gone_ (as in dead, as in not coming back) and _not here_. All the money in the world couldn’t give that string of numbers the upgrade it needs to make it click that nothing is normal, and nothing is the same.

Everything _looks_ the same.

Everything but the bedroom, which breaks your heart. You had to get a new bed, obviously, because the one you shared with Jake wouldn’t be able to serve you the way you need it to. You think that’s bullshit, because in this day and age of technology, why can’t we just stick some fucking apparatus onto the bedframe and go, why is it so hard, _why can’t you just keep it_ \- but it is how it is. Your old bed sheets are too big for your new techno-disability bed, but you use them anyway.

JADE: ...istening to me, are you?

You blink, and stop sipping. Shit.

DIRK: Uh.  
JADE: dirk!!

She looks unimpressed.

JADE: seriously???

You would shrug apologetically, but you’re not really in a position to do that now, are you? A frown and a head tilt will have to suffice.

JADE: asshole!  
DIRK: Sorry.  
JADE: yeah yeah!! 

She sets the smoothie down in favor of a piece of toast, and you let her feed it to you. You don’t want to rely on machines every moment of the fuckin’ day, so you’re thankful for Jade’s help. Seriously. Still, no amount of gratefulness will make this less difficult for you. Jade is one of the few people you still talk to face to face that will look at you dead on. You know that she feels sorry for you (everyone does. Even you), but it doesn’t ooze from her every pore in droplets of pity and bile like it does everyone else. You appreciate that about her. That doesn’t negate that her scrutiny and apt attention makes your embarrassment burn hotter.

JADE: well, im not gonna repeat all of that! but i do have something important to say, so listen up!  
DIRK: Oka-  
JADE: i said listen!!!

You snort. You’re really quite fond of her.

(Of course you are. Her eyes shine in that same sort of “I know you think I’m cute; I’m about to ruin your life” way that Jake’s used to. The English family seems like it’s destined to nurse you with the same care and attention that they use to destroy you.)

JADE: janes gonna come by in a bit

If Jade demanding your attention didn’t capture it, this sure as hell did.

DIRK: Did they find something?

You’d think having Jane, one of your oldest friends, leading Jake’s case would give you some sort of insider look at the information available. Or literally _any_ information at all. Apparently, though, you underwent “serious trauma” and needed “time to recover” before you were exposed to “sensitive information” that might “trigger” your “PTSD”. Whatever that means.

JADE: yuck, dont talk with your mouth full!  
DIRK: Sorry.  
JADE: eugh  
JADE: anyway!!  
DIRK: Anyway.  
JADE: i just know she wants to talk to you, and youre not busy!  
DIRK: Sure I am.  
DIRK: I’m feeling like running a marathon.  
JADE: oh shoot, okay!! ill cancel with jane then  
DIRK: Thanks.  
JADE: no prob!

She helps you finish the toast, and you sip the rest of your smoothie while she catches you back up on her plans with her friend, June. You know exactly what’s in the smoothie (blackberries, a banana, blueberries, spinach, yogurt, protein powder), but you mess up your guess on purpose, because it makes her laugh. You’ll get ‘em next time.

She bathes and clothes you, and you don’t remind her that the machines can take care of that just fine.

-

Jane Crocker arrives at your bedside in the afternoon, just after Jade’s finished feeding you lunch (a fresh salad, which is pretty fuckin’ good, even if you prefer the days where there’s chicken instead of this mix of avocado and seeds. Jade feeds you like you’re a fuckin’ rabbit). She busies herself in a corner, and you give Jane a cool-kid nod in greeting.

JANE: Dirk. Hello.  
DIRK: Sup.

She looks at you, and unlike with Jade, you can see the pity seeping out of her. You hate it.

JANE: How- How are you, Dirk?

You look at her, down at your unmoving body, and back at her. Um.

DIRK: Peachy.  
JANE: Right, yes. 

Why is everything so awkward, all the time, forever?

DIRK: So. Whatcha got for me?

She sighs, and you know you aren’t going to like whatever she has to say.

JANE: No more than last time, I’m afraid.  
DIRK: ... 

You have “last time” memorized. There were four different cameras recording the incident involving you and your husband on 10/21. Studying them reveals that the attackers headed south on Parker after the attack. After that, they split up, and eventually the camera trail was lost.

DIRK: Last time was some blurry drone footage, Jane.  
JANE: I know.   
DIRK: So... what. Who were those guys?  
JANE: We don’t know yet.  
DIRK: You’re kidding.  
DIRK: You guys have these computers hidden everywhere. In every corner of the city, there are these drones watching us and recording shit, pisspoor quality and all.   
DIRK: Speaking of, you’d think the quality would be better on police grade equipment?

She snorts.

JANE: You’d think.  
DIRK: Anyway.  
JANE: Anyway.  
DIRK: These things can track the fillings in our teeth. Don’t tell me they can’t, because I know they can. Ninety some odd percent of people these days have tech and shit in them, whether it be medical or cosmetic.  
JANE: This is all true.  
DIRK: ...  
DIRK: So you’re saying all of this is true, and you haven’t found these fuckers yet? You _have the footage_. You _have the tech._  
JANE: It’s more complicated than that, and you know it.  
JANE: Our technology works, but criminals can find ways around it. If they can find the right people, and can spare a thousand dollars, anyone can get a firewall built around them that prevents our drones from identifying their faces.   
DIRK: Okay? So identify the tech implants they probably have stuck in them.  
JANE: If they thought to scramble their faces, you really think they wouldn’t block us from their technology?

Obviously. Obviously they would. You stop looking at her, and fix your eyes to the ceiling.

DIRK: They were wearing bright fucking green, man. That has to be something. Even if your definitely necessary and fully functional machines can’t find these fuckers, you’re a detective. Do your fucking job.

She sighs.

JANE: If it’s any consolation, we’ve brought two guys in just in this past week.  
DIRK: The guys who killed Jake?  
JANE: ...No. But-  
DIRK: If it’s not them, I don’t give a fuck.

Jane goes quiet.

DIRK: Sorry.

You feel like shit.

DIRK: Sorry, Jane. I’m just tired.  
JANE: I know. I know, Dirk. I haven’t been able to sleep.  
JANE: I don’t even think I’ve fully processed it yet.  
JANE: It’s been very hard. I can’t even imagine what it’s been like for you, losing Jake. And... Quadriplegic...  
DIRK: Spare the pity, Jane. Please.  
DIRK: I just want these guys caught, okay? Not an empathetic rundown turned into emotional fuckfest. It’s the last thing I need right now.  
DIRK: Blah blah childhood, blah blah first love. Can’t move, can’t wipe my ass. I _need_ justice. I _need_ you to find these guys. I _don’t_ need... whatever this is.  
DIRK: Why did you even come here if you don’t have any news?

She scoots her chair closer to you, and her hand moves like it wants to touch yours. It can if it wants to. You don’t care. It doesn’t though, and opts to rest in her lap, tucked neatly behind the other.

JANE: I just wanted to see you.  
JANE: See how you were doing.

It’s your turn to be quiet.

JANE: I know that it has been difficult. I know that you’re tired.  
JANE: But we can’t give up hope. I will do anything and everything that I can. 

It won’t be enough. What she told you today is that nothing that she does will ever be enough.

JANE: We can beat this; you’re good at that. You’re a fighter, Dirk.

You hate that she says that. You hate that she’s right.

JANE: This is a fight we are going to win, trust me.   
DIRK: There is no fight. 

You are so tired of fighting. You can’t fight now, even if you wanted to.

DIRK: He’s never coming back, and I’m never going to recover - it’s a permanent spinal injury.  
JANE: Don’t say that. You have to keep your spirits up. Doctors are capable of amazing things.   
DIRK: Just because I can’t tie my own shoes anymore doesn’t mean you have to lie to me like I’m a goddamn three year old.  
JANE: Dirk...

Jade, beautiful and perfect, just like her brother, steps up beside Jane and places a hand on her shoulder.

JADE: we should probably wrap this up, sorry!

She’s making things better, kind of. At least for a second. Because of course she knows how to do that.

JADE: weve got a show to catch!!

Technically, there is no “catching” to be done. Things haven’t come out on a schedule like that in years. Still, you do watch movies and shows together in the afternoon, so it’s not a full lie.

JANE: Right.

You can tell that she has more to say. Or, maybe she doesn’t and just wants the proper last word. Maybe she just wants your company (as if).

JANE: I’ll... talk to you later, Dirk.  
DIRK: Yeah.  
DIRK: Take care, Jane.

She hums affirmatively, and stands. Jade walks her out.

-

You hardly pay attention as the TV drones some soap opera or another at you and Jade. It’s crazy; televised drama just doesn’t have the same appeal anymore, ironic or otherwise. Funny how that works. It’s fine, though. She likes to talk over it anyway.

JADE: ...and honestly i think he should just come home yknow!   
DIRK: Yeah, I guess. Have you heard from her recently?

You’re talking about your friend Roxy. You’ve known her for as long as you can remember, which means she’s known Jake for almost as long. It’s been hard on her. They dropped everything a week or so ago to chase some “lead” in Jake’s case they found on one of their coding jobs (she is so good with tech that it’s almost scary. If you were a lesser man, you’d consider yourself threatened by their technoprowess rivaling [surpassing] your own), or something. You’re glad that someone is doing something (literally anything) to make progress, and cyber vigilante is a good look on her. Still, you just sort of wish they were here.

JADE: like a couple days ago, yeah!!  
JADE: you havent?  
DIRK: No.

Sigh.

DIRK: Cool.  
JADE: im sure he has his reasons!  
DIRK: Yeah.

Great.

-

You make it through two and a half more episodes before you’ve had enough.

DIRK: Jade.

She drags her attention from the TV and focuses it on you, adjusting her round glasses with the knuckle of her forefinger.

JADE: yeah?  
DIRK: You can go.

Her eyebrows settle into a disappointed (no, exasperated. Incredulous? You’re not sure. It isn’t positive, that’s for damn certain) furrow.

JADE: what?  
DIRK: I’m good, I mean.

You’re not good. You are so, so, so tired. You’re ready to rest.

DIRK: I’m down to sulk and sleep for the rest of the day. Go get a head start on your shit with June.

The volume on the television is clicked way, way down, and Jade turns her full body towards you. You can tell she’s trying to figure out your angle. She studies you, and then she sighs.

JADE: i usually leave in like an hour  
JADE: i dont mind staying, you know  
DIRK: Yeah, I know.

Because she’s good. Jade is a good person. If you were Jade, maybe Jake would still be here, and she wouldn’t have to be. You’re wasting her here in your bedroom. She has more to offer to the world than nursing. You’ve taken her time and her talent and all of her _good_ , and you are wasting it.

JADE: besides, i need to be here to take care of you!  
DIRK: I have machines to do that for me.

That’s a bullshit answer, and you know that she knows it.

JADE: but you hate them

You don’t hate them. You hate _you_ for needing them.

DIRK: Yeah, well. I just want to be alone, okay?

Jade looks at you, and she looks at the morphine angel, pendent from the ceiling. She clicks the television off, and takes your hand like Jane was too scared to. You don’t feel it, but if you could you think that it would feel like comfort and you think that it would feel like grief.

JADE: jake wouldnt want you to be all alone

You could say that it’s a good thing that he’s dead, then. You could tell her to let go of your hand.

JADE: were all going to die one day, dirk  
JADE: please give me a chance to help you find hope before its my turn

Jade is beautiful, and she is good, and you hate her so much.

-

She stays for that whole hour, and even a bit extra.

For a second, you think she’ll never leave. You’re not sure if that’s good or bad, but you don’t have to go back and forth (good: You’re so lonely; sometimes, if you look out of the corner of your eye, she looks like her brother [you are such a scumbag]; you don’t want to talk to these machines, because you’re afraid you might get used to them and never talk to a real person again. bad: You’re so tired; sometimes, if you look out of the corner of your eye, she looks like her brother [it hurts]; something deep inside of you doesn’t want to talk to a real person ever again [you can’t burden a machine. There are no feelings to hurt in ones and zeroes. Even if relying on them is admitting defeat].) for very long. She feeds you, kisses your forehead, and then she leaves.

And it is quiet.

DIRK: Morphine.

Your angel extends its slender arm, and injects the drug into yours. You huff a breath.

DIRK: Morphine.

Another dose is injected. You want more, so you can sleep faster. Get drowsy, go to sleep. Feel better, just for a little bit.

DIRK: Morphine.  
MORPHINE ANGEL: I cannot administer any more medication, Dirk.  
DIRK: There was an issue with your last dosage. Morphine.

The arm sticks the needle back into your arm, and you sink your head back into your pillow. The world is starting to blur, thank god. Things will feel less real until you drift off.

DIRK: Morphine.  
MORPHINE ANGEL: I cannot administer any more medication, Dirk.  
DIRK: Y’didn’t do it right. Morphine.  
MORPHINE ANGEL: I cannot administer any more medication, Dirk.  
DIRK: Morphine.  
MORPHINE ANGEL: Another... 

That’s not a good feeling in your head.

MORPHINE ANGEL: ..be fatal. I will contact an ambulance to transport you to a hospital if you a... 

You don’t listen. You can’t, really.

You are so, so tired.

-

When you wake up, it is not in your bed. Your shades are not on your nose, which sends a jolt of anxiety straight into your temples. You are not in your bed, which means you are...

(White sheets. White walls. It’s so bright. Small window. Beep, beep, beep of a machine. This pillow is not comfortable.)

...in the hospital. Sigh. What the fuck happened this time? As always, your train of thought (you hate the hospital. Where is Jade? How did you get here? What happened? You hate the hospital) is derailed by someone doing something, this time somebody pulling the curtain next to your bed back.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Your shades are not on. You don’t want them to look at you, whoever it is. You screw your eyes shut.

DAVE: yo dirk

Oh. It’s your brother. You don’t open your eyes.

DAVE: oh shit  
DAVE: are you up

He steps closer to your bed, and you hear him pick something up from the table next to it. You crack one of your eyes open, ever so slightly, and watch him rub a delicate thumb over the point of your sunglasses. He doesn’t look at you, which you appreciate. A Strider isn’t a Strider without his shades is what your Bro taught you. He was probably right about that much, if not anything else. They are truly the manliest of safety blankets. Your final fuck you to the guy was not letting him get buried in his. No way, fucko, those bad boys sit on your nose every day, and he gets to decompose as just Bro. Not Diedrick Strider. Not even “Bro” Strider. No shades, no Strider. Just Bro.

DIRK: Yo.

Dave’s shoulders stiffen and square up slightly. You startled him.

DAVE: oh hey

The weight of your glasses is welcome on the bridge of your nose as he slides them on for you (he seems almost hesitant. Maybe he wishes he got the shades instead of the house. Maybe you’re projecting). Finally, you open your eyes, and take him in as he pulls up a chair to sit in. His suit doesn’t fit properly. Poor fucking kid.

DIRK: Sup.  
DAVE: uh

He shifts in his seat.

DAVE: nothin  
DAVE: chillin  
DIRK: ...Uh huh.  
DIRK: Same.

It’s quiet for a second, and then you both try to speak at once.

DAVE: so i wanted t-  
DIRK: You don’t have t-

...

DIRK: Dave-  
DAVE: dirk-

Okay, this is ridiculous. You shut your mouth and let him talk.

DAVE: ...   
DAVE: ok are we done talking over each other like some weird buddy comedy movie bit  
DIRK: Yeah, I think so.  
DAVE: ok cool  
DAVE: im sorry

You raise an eyebrow.

DIRK: You’re good. It was kind of funny.  
DAVE: huh  
DAVE: oh haha  
DAVE: no i wasnt talking about the buddy comedy bit also it wasnt that funny

Oh. The quadriplegic thing, not the funnyman thing.

DIRK: It’s fine. I’m getting used to it.

He looks at you like you’re an idiot.

DAVE: no not that  
DAVE: for everything  
DAVE: for being a shitty brother

Not this again.

DIRK: Dave.  
DAVE: no listen  
DAVE: i know that bro takes the cake in shitty brotherhood thats a given  
DAVE: but i couldve been nicer to you after he died

Yeah, he could have. But you don’t blame him.

DIRK: Sure, you could have. Shit happens, though. You’ve been forgiven, dude. It’s cool. You lost your brother.  
DAVE: he was your brother too though  
DAVE: look  
DAVE: ive been thinking a lot  
DAVE: about bro  
DAVE: and why he was like that  
DAVE: and honestly i dont get it 

Of course he doesn’t.

You do.

You understand. You’ve understood since Bro told you that you needed to teach your little brother to fight. You’ve understood since you were tasked with getting your thirteen year old brother to the point where he could take on his fully grown guardian. Bro worked with bad people. Bad people who would hurt you and Dave if they got the chance, so you needed to make sure that they wouldn’t. You’ve understood since you went too easy on Dave, and you _really_ got it when Bro _didn’t_ go easy on Dave. Dave lost a lot of strifes, and it was your fault. You didn’t want him to have two evil older brothers, and in the process, you ended up arguably worse than the original.

You don’t understand why Dave got RE-DIRTS and you didn’t, but you do know that it was always going to be like that. That’s why Dave needed to know how to fight, and you needed to stay out of the way (far, far, far out of the way. Out of the way of Dave’s training on days where it wasn’t your responsibility, but not outside of the mansion. It was dangerous out there, _bad people_ were out there. Bad people who were only a threat to you, apparently, because Dave got to see _his_ friends. Stay out of the way, Dirk, and hardly talk to a soul in person until you turn sixteen).

You understand that Bro had a reason for everything he did. You know that he did what he did for the two of you, or he thought that was what he was doing.

You also understand that you’re glad he’s dead.

DAVE: he was so secretive and weird  
DAVE: and you would think being ceo of his technosperm baby would make things make sense or at least more clear but nah if bro was a windshield covered in bug guts and dirt and shit becoming him was like taking a dry towel and smudging it around and calling it clean  
DAVE: like none of this shit makes sense  
DAVE: and thats a fuckin freaky way to put it  
DAVE: becoming him or whatever  
DAVE: because he sucked ass   
DAVE: but thats what it feels like yknow i have all his shit and im doing his job its more him than he even was

You’re following, but you don’t think that this is what he came here for.

DIRK: Okay. I can see how that makes sense. What’s the point of coming here to tell me that, though? You could have just texted me.  
DAVE: right yeah except i couldnt have   
DIRK: Why not?  
DAVE: cuz like  
DAVE: okay  
DAVE: youre somebody who liked to get things done with your own hands right and now you cant  
DAVE: right

You snort.

DIRK: Jesus.  
DAVE: fuck am i being too blunt  
DIRK: It’s okay. I like blunt. Every day for the past few months, I’ve been drowning in positivity. Jade’s been my keeper, remember?  
DAVE: oh yeah   
DAVE: yeah i can see how the whole everything is going to be okay schtick might make shit(ck)-  
DIRK: Ha.  
DAVE: -feel sorta bleak  
DIRK: Yeah.   
DIRK: I mean, it isn’t just Jade, though. Jane’s been like that too; so’s Roxy, when they’re around. It’s not like any of them are pessimists to begin with, so the sunshine and rainbows have been kicked into high fuckin’ gear. It’s a lot.  
DAVE: thank god for the shades  
DIRK: Thank God for the shades.  
DIRK: I guess that’s the thing about life changing, earth shattering, body destroying shit like this - all the assholes of the world disappear. Everybody becomes the very best version of themselves around you.   
DIRK: And you are, quite literally, stationary.  
DIRK: I feel like shit, and things are shit, and no one is showing weakness around me or treating me like they used to because everything is shit, so I feel shittier and can’t show it because they will try to be the anti-shit even harder.  
DIRK: It’s the world’s shittiest cycle of shit.  
DAVE: what if you werent though  
DIRK: What, shitty? Trust me, I’m the founder of the “I Wish Dirk Wasn’t Shitty” club.  
DAVE: what no  
DAVE: i meant stationary what the fuck youre not shitty

Uh.

DIRK: Uh. Sorry for not jumping to that very plausible and sensical conclusion, man. Let me just jot that down to remember for later.  
DAVE: ha  
DAVE: but like seriously  
DAVE: thats why im here   
DAVE: if i told you i could give you your body back would you take it  
DIRK: ...   
DIRK: I know I just went on a whole speech about how I like blunt and all of that but this feels a little mean. Shitty, even.  
DAVE: sorry  
DAVE: i mean it though

You stare at him, and you aren’t sure how you feel. Confused, mostly. A little unnerved.

DAVE: do you remember lil hal  
DAVE: bros supercomputer

Of course you do. Hexbug motherfucker.

DIRK: Yeah.  
DIRK: Stupid name.  
DAVE: whatever  
DAVE: so you remember that it can do literally anything  
DAVE: even make babies and play football  
DAVE: ...   
DAVE: i think he was trying to do something good with lil hal  
DAVE: and even if he wasnt trying to do good i am and this thing could change everything for you and people in your situation

Blink blink. This is.. a lot.

DIRK: So... what. That asshole’s little computer is going to teach me how to walk?  
DAVE: well no  
DAVE: since the line connecting your brain to your limbs has been cut or whatever itd technically be doing the walking?  
DAVE: it goes in the brainstem  
DAVE: it can bridge that gap between your brain and your body and make the magic happen

You open your mouth to respond, think better of it, and close it again. What... what? The fuck?

DIRK: You think...  
DIRK: Dave.   
DIRK: Put yourself in my shoes for a sec. A wacked out computer in your car fucks up your entire life. Your brother offers to put a computer by a wacked out guy in your _body_. Do you or do you not feel more than a little bit apprehensive?  
DAVE: okay bu-  
DIRK: How do we even know it will work and you’re not just putting something named after the poster child of evil AI into me?  
DAVE: i dont but if you j-  
DIRK: Have you tested this on anyone yet?  
DAVE: no-  
DIRK: Right.  
DIRK: I don’t understand why-  
DAVE: because i fucking care about you man!!!!!  
DAVE: shit!!!!!  
DAVE: you lost your husband  
DAVE: you lost your body  
DAVE: and now youre in the hospital because you...   
DAVE: you tried to... 

Ah. That’s why you’re here. You remember now. Morphine.

You weren’t trying to kill yourself.

You weren’t _not_ trying to kill yourself.

You were just tired.

DIRK: I didn’t mean to end up here.  
DAVE: ...   
DIRK: Or dead.  
DAVE: ...   
DIRK: I mean it.  
DAVE: okay

You sigh.

DIRK: Look, Dave. You’re my little brother. If anything I should be looking after you, not the opposite.  
DAVE: that mentality got our family nowhere

Ouch.

DIRK: ...   
DAVE: ...   
DAVE: bro told me a few days before he died that i would know when the time came to give lil hal a body  
DAVE: i didnt know what it meant  
DAVE: thought he was just being a cryptic piece of shit like usual  
DAVE: i dont understand anything about that guy but i think i get that much now  
DAVE: i want to give him to you  
DAVE: i cant stand to see you like this anymore dirk

He means it. You know he means it. He wants to help you, and probably is searching for some sort of fulfilment in helping you. In using your piece of shit brother’s technology to help you. He wants to do good, and he wants to do good by you. If it doesn’t work and you die or something, at least it will be you instead of someone else. Every project needs its first test subject.

And you... want your body back.

DIRK: ...   
DIRK: Okay.   
DIRK: Say I bite, and we do this. What does it mean?

You can see tension release from Dave’s shoulders. He really, really wants this.

DAVE: wed hook you up with the best surgeon we could get in the mansion and make it happen  
DAVE: and itd have to be a secret  
DAVE: like the toppest of secrets  
DAVE: this secret has never bottomed a day in its life ok it really gets a thrill from being in control  
DAVE: if anyone hears about it well get a lot of unwanted attention  
DIRK: Bad people.  
DAVE: bad people  
DAVE: theyll take lil hal away and then bros work and legacy and everything will all be for nothing   
DIRK: How do you know that would happen?  
DAVE: he told me

Of course he did. Bro loved to talk about bad people.

DIRK: Fine.   
DAVE: wait really  
DIRK: Yeah. Why the fuck not.

The corners of Dave’s mouth curl, and the crease between his eyebrows smooth. You envy his ability to express so much just by moving his face.

DAVE: cool  
DIRK: Cool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter is when shit gets REAL (and marginally less depressing!!!!!)

**Author's Note:**

> if you like my words, check out my twitter: https://twitter.com/voidspect !  
> if you like ry's art, check out her instagram: https://www.instagram.com/psyhcic/ !


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